Desmond seemed delighted.  “That’s a marvelous idea.”  He lifted a small, discreet walkie-talkie to his mouth and commanded, “Bring a pitcher of lemonade and five glasses.  Miss Lillian is parched from her frog killing spree.”  He turned back to Lillian and said, “You are my savior.  You are my Rambo of the pond.  The Terminator of frogs.  Whatever would I do without you?”

“You would manage, I am sure, darling,” Lillian said.

Desmond looked at his watch.  “Oh no, the yo-yo’ers will be here soon.”  He put his hand to his forehead in a very theatrical swoon.  “I wish Evan didn’t have his heart set on the yo-yo’ers for entertainment.  It’s so tasteless.  The cabaret thing I wanted at least had class.”

“Desmond, we talked about this,” Lillian soothed.

“I know.  I know.  It’s his wedding too,” Desmond said, pouting.  “It’s just so tawdry,” he muttered as he walked toward the house.

“And cabaret dancers are so high class,” Lillian muttered.

“So, this seems like a rather unusual wedding,” Amy said.

A young woman came out holding a silver tray with a cut-glass pitcher of fresh lemonade and five glasses.  “Is this where the sane people gather?” she asked.

Meet Janice Cohen.  Janice was very pretty under the military buzz cut and facial piercings.  She even had a nice body, if you could find it under the extra large sweatshirt and baggy gray chinos.  Her aura screamed feminist, but her lingering gaze at Amy whispered lesbian.

Lillian looked relieved.  “Oh darling, thank goodness you’re here.  He’s out of control again.”

Janice set the platter down.  “I know.  He’s hyperventilating all over the kitchen.”

“But, I got all the frogs and the green stuff.  The pond looks fine,” Lillian said.  “I mean it is a pond; it’s going to have pond stuff.”

“No, it’s not that,” Janice said, pouring lemonade all around.  “Now, he’s fighting with Evan about the yo-yo’ers.”  She handed Amy a glass of lemonade.  “I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Janice. Desmond’s friend, but don’t hold that against me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Where are my manners,” Lillian said.  “This is Amy.  She’s a lesbian.”

“It’s nice to meet you.  Why haven’t I seen you out before?”

“Out?” Amy said.

“You know, in the clubs.  Or events.  Or potlucks,” Janice said.

“She’s a brand-new lesbian,” Claire said.  “A late bloomer.”

“Fresh meat,” Janice said.

“Huh?” Amy said, alarmed.  She nervously gulped her lemonade.

“Have you been initiated yet?”

Amy slowly shook her head and took another gulp.

Janice leered and wagged her eyebrows.  “Maybe I can initiate you, then. It doesn’t hurt.  Much.  Well, it only hurts the first time.  I need a new toaster oven anyway.”

What was this woman talking about? Amy was befuddled.  Befuddled?  Was that really a word?  Or was it confuddled?  She was confuddled and befused.

Janice took her arm.  “Are you okay?  You looked like you were going to faint.  I was only kidding.  Lesbian humor.  It was a joke.”

“Oh,” Amy said and forced a fake-sounding chuckle.

“So who’s the girl?” Janice asked.

“Girl?”

“Yeah, what lucky woman rescued you from the bondage of heterosexuality?”

“Oh.  Her name is Jordan March.”

“You’re dating Jordan March? The Jordan March?” Janice said.

Amy didn’t know exactly how to take this.  Did she mean to imply Amy wasn’t good enough to date someone like Jordan March or that Jordan March was a bad person to date?

“Unless there’s another Jordan March,” Amy said, tentatively.  She almost hoped there might be two of them and Amy got the good one, not the one this woman knew.

“She’s tall, gorgeous, talented, witty, and lives in that crazy house in the old part of town where all the mansions are?” Janice said.

Lillian and Claire were conspicuously silent.  Amy knew they loved getting the info without having to be the ones to extract it. She could feel their eyes on her.

“Yep, that’s her.”

“How’d you manage that?  She never dates anyone, especially after the Ice Queen episode.”

Lillian couldn’t help herself.  “Ice Queen?”

“She was Jordan’s last girlfriend.  Her name is Petronella and she’s a professor at the University and she’s a poet and she is the nastiest person I have ever met.  She’s having some big poetry-reading thing at the New Little Theatre tonight.  I’m going.”

“So am I,” Amy said.  “I mean, Jordan and I are going.”

“Can straight people come, too?” Lillian asked.

“Sure,” Janice said.

Lillian poked Claire in the ribs with her elbow. “Let’s go crash the lesbian party.  It sounds fun.”

“Oh, Petronella’s poetry isn’t fun,” Janice said.  “It’s angry.  You know how Rita Mae Brown’s cat, Sneaky Pie Brown, started writing mystery novels?  Well, Petronella is now writing poetry with her vagina.  She’s named it Vagina Woolf.”

Claire clapped her hands.  “That sounds wonderful!  Maybe I can get some ideas for my sculptures.”

Before Amy could object to her mother crashing her date, there was the sound of metal crashing against metal, and a high-pitched scream.  The back door was thrown open and six muscular, oiled, naked men strutted into the back yard with their doodles dangling.  They lined up in a chorus line, and began to yo-yo and kick step in perfect synchronization.

Claire and Lillian sat in rapt attention.  Amy and Janice exchanged a confuddled look.  “I think that’s my cue to leave,” Amy said.


Dry Run

Jordan, Edison and Irma were in their backyard making last minute preparations for their attack on Petronella at her vagina’s poetry reading.  They had dubbed their revenge attack “Operation Meltdown.”

“Three hours, ladies,” Jordan said.  “We have only have three hours to get this right.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Edison said.  “We’ll be ready.  Then her angry vagina will be a sorry vagina.”

Irma chimed in, “Petronella does not own corner market on angry vagina.  My vagina can beat up her vagina any day.”

“That would make a great bumper sticker,” Jordan said.  Her vagina was pretty angry, too.  It was angry with Petronella for leading her astray, making her believe she was the only vagina in the world that mattered, and then cheating on her with a younger vagina.  Jordan, owner of said vagina, was pretty steamed also.  All the throwing things, all the stalking, all the destruction of property, not to mention the graffiti on the porch which took a whole can of paint thinner to remove, had made Jordan mad enough to extract a fitting revenge.

And what was more fitting than giving the Ice Queen a taste of her own medicine?

Edison made a last-minute final adjustment to her remote control car.  “Ready?” she asked.

Jordan nodded.  Irma licked her lips in anticipation.

They were surrounded by cardboard cutouts of Petronella that Irma had created.  Irma had Photoshopped pictures of Petronella’s head and enlarged them so they would fit the cardboard cutouts.  They’d placed these around the yard.

“You better be sure about this, Jordan.  You could be starting a Hatfield and McCoy kind of thing,” Edison said, flipping the power switch on the car.

“You have icy shoes?” Irma taunted.

It took Edison a moment before she realized Irma meant ‘cold feet.’  “No, I’m not scared.”

“You lie.  You are turkey.  Gobble gobble gobble.  You are big turkey,” Irma said.  She pranced around the yard, gobbling and doing a weird turkey strut.

Jordan and Edison exchanged an amused look.

“You mean chicken.  Cluck cluck cluck.  And I am not chicken,” Edison said.  “I’m just concerned that this will start World War Lesbo. I want to make sure we all know that.”

“This was your idea,” Jordan said.  “You’re backing out now?”

“I’m not backing out,” Edison said.

“Edison is big plump chicken,” Irma said.  She walked around the yard poking her neck out, flapping her arms up and down, and making clucking sounds.

“Stop that!” Edison said.  “I’m not a plump chicken!  I’m just making sure is all.”

Irma stopped the chicken dance and squinted one eye.  “Edison is right.  In Mother Russia we give person one chance to fess clean.”

Jordan rolled her eyes.  “Do you think Petronella is really going to admit to everything?”

“Irma is master interrogator.  Irma can make her talk. Here is best technique Irma learn from… never mind who, is not important.  Irma hold rat by tail.  Make it big, ugly, scary rat with pointy teeth.  Rat is dead or alive, make no matter.  Irma hold rat by tail and put in Petronella’s face.  Petronella is tied to chair.  She sees rat and is scared like little girl.  Irma shake rat in face, like so.”  She demonstrated with an imaginary rat in Edison’s face.  “Irma then say, ‘Rat will eat your face if you do not confess.’  You shake rat more.  Make rat seem angry and hungry, see?  This work many times for Irma in past.”

After a long pause, Jordan said, “I like our idea better.”

“Me, too,” Edison said. “Though I will keep that in mind as a back-up plan.”

“Fine with me,” Irma said.  “Irma have no rat anyway.”

“Good to know,” Edison said.  “Okay, you guys ready for the dry run?”

“Rock and roll time,” Jordan said.

“Who let the dogs out,” Irma said, looking like a stern P.E. teacher.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Jordan said.

“To you, maybe.  To Irma it is eye of the tiger,” Irma said.

Edison donned her special glasses and grabbed the remote.  Jordan and Irma took five steps back.

“It’s show time, folks!” Edison said.


Operation Meltdown, Phase One

What with all the hoopla about Operation Meltdown, Jordan had almost forgotten she had a date with Amy.  That is until she saw Amy walk in the door of the theatre.  Jordan inhaled sharply.  Amy absolutely took her breath away.  Normally, not being able to breathe was a bad thing.  This time, however, it felt great.

Jordan rushed up to Amy’s side and took her hand.  She said in an avalanche of words, “You look great.  I’m so glad you could make it.  It’s going to be exciting.  You smell good.”

Amy blushed.  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Jordan glanced at two older women that were standing behind Amy.  She escorted Amy away from the women, whispering in her ear, “Don’t look now, but there are two dykes behind you.  I think they’re checking you out.”

Amy turned to look, but Jordan whispered harshly, “Don’t look!  They’ll know we’re talking about them.”

Amy snapped back to attention.  Jordan oh-so-discreetly led Amy even further away.  The two women followed close behind.  Way too close.  Jordan decided she had had enough.  She couldn’t tolerate stalking any more.  She turned to the two women and with her hands on her hips, summoned her most authoritative voice.  “Listen, you two.  Back off.  This is my date.  She doesn’t want anything to do with you, Capice?  So you can take your little stalker eyes and your little stalker ears and go stalk someone else.  Capice?”  Jordan threw the Italian lingo in there twice.  She wanted to make sure they knew she meant business.  And maybe they would think she had some Mafia connections.

“Ooooh, I like you,” one of the women said.

The other woman agreed, “So tough and strong.  Like an Amazon warrior.”

Jordan took a threatening step in closer to the women, intending to throw them out the front door, but Amy stopped her.  “Jordan, I would like you to meet my mother, Claire, and her friend, Lillian.”

Jordan blinked, then looked sheepishly at the ground.  “Sorry.  I just thought…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Claire said.

“It was very chivalrous,” Lillian agreed.  “So, are you a lesbian, too?”

“Of course she’s a lesbian.  She’s dating my daughter, isn’t she?” Claire said.

Lillian shrugged.  “You never know.  I dated a lesbian once and didn’t know it.”

“How could you not know it?”

“It was dark and she had a mustache.”

Claire nodded.  “Did you ever see Yentl?”

“Oh, I would date Barbra in a heart beat,” Lillian said.

Claire shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Those fingernails are scary.”

Jordan looked at Amy.  She was still flabbergasted and didn’t know what to say.

Amy apologized, “Sorry about this.  I don’t always take my mother on my dates.  I just didn’t know how to tell her no.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“The more the merrier,” Jordan said.  “Anyway, I have my roommates with me.  I hope that’s cool.”

The four of them walked through the double doors and into the small ninety-nine-seat auditorium.  Claire and Lillian gasped at the same time.  “Oh my!” Claire said.  “Just look at all the lesbians!”